What to Do with a Used Furby

For my daughter’s first birthday, my grandmother sent her a used Furby. Though still in it’s box it had no directions. Being the year 2001, the Furby craze had long past, and this little first gen black and white fuzz had already been surpassed by baby furby’s and second gens.

I had heard about how wonderful and amazing Furbys were, but when we replaced the batteries we found a typical electronic toy with programmed repeating phrases (our furby apparently already knew English and the little reset on the bottom doesn’t do anything) some of which were triggered by light and movement. Later someone told me you really needed two to see the amazing stuff, but at 50 dollars a pop, I said no. Besides would a new one work with our sad little creature?

Aia particularly enjoyed the movement part his screams delighted her as she winged him around.

Though loud and annoying, there is something loveable about this tragic little creature. At some point he introduced himself as Navbo, I can still hear that sped up voice saying, “I am Navbo”. I suppose I could have misunderstood him, but it was cute. After a few months his batteries died and he slept with eyes open in the bottom of my daughter’s toy-box. Poor Navbo, I did not have the money to replace his fuel cels.

Then a few days ago my grandfather found him and replaced the batteries and my daughter was once again delighted. He asked me, “How do you turn that thing off?”

“Either put him in a dark room and leave him alone or take out the batteries,” I said.

Even my grandfather didn’t have the heart to do that.

© Michelle Norton

A man in Grand Rapids, Michigan took out a $7000 full page ad in the paper to present the following essay to the people of our community. It really touched my heart and I hope it will yours too.

When I was a puppy, I entertained you with my antics and made you laugh. You called me your child, and despite a number of chewed shoes and a couple of murdered throw pillows, I became your best friend. Whenever I was “bad,” you’d shake your finger at me and ask “How could you?” — but then you’d relent, and roll me over for a bellyrub.

My housebreaking took a little longer than expected, because you were terribly busy, but we worked on that together. I remember those nights of nuzzling you in bed and listening to your confidences and secret dreams and I believed that life could not be any more perfect. We went for long walks and runs in the park, car rides, stops for ice cream (I only got the cone because “ice cream is bad for dogs,” you said), and I took long naps in the sun waiting for you to come home at the end of the day.

Gradually, you began spending more time at work and on your career, and more time searching for a human mate. I waited for you patiently, comforted you through heartbreaks and disappointments, never chided you about bad decisions, and romped with glee at your homecomings, and when you fell in love. She, now your wife, is not a “dog person” — still I welcomed her into our home, tried to show her affection, and obeyed her. I was happy because you were happy.

Then the human babies came along and I shared your excitement. I was fascinated by their pinkness, how they smelled, and I wanted to mother them, too. Only she and you worried that I might hurt them, and I spent most of my time banished to another room, or to a dog crate. Oh, how I wanted to love them, but I became a “prisoner of love.”

As they began to grow, I became their friend. They clung to my fur and pulled themselves up on wobbly legs, poked fingers in my eyes, investigated my ears, and gave me kisses on my nose. I loved everything about them and their touch — because your touch was now so infrequent — and I woul have defended them with my life if need be. I would sneak into their beds and listen to their worries and secret dreams, and together we waited for the sound of your car in the driveway.

There had been a time, when others asked you if you had a dog, that you produced a photo of me from your wallet and told them stories about me. These past few years, you just answered “yes” and changed the subject. I had gone from being “your dog” to “just a dog,” and you resented every expenditure on my behalf.

Now, you have a new career opportunity in another city, and you and they will be moving to an apartment that does not allow pets. You’ve made the right decision for your “family,” but there was a time when I was your only family. I was excited about the car ride until we arrived at the animal shelter. It smelled of dogs and cats, of fear, of hopelessness. You filled out the paperwork and said “I know you will find a good home for her. They shrugged and gave you a pained look. They understand the realities facing a middle-aged dog, even one with “papers.”

You had to pry your son’s fingers loose from my collar as he screamed “No, Daddy! Please don’t let them take my dog!” And I worried for him, and what lessons you had just taught him about friendship and loyalty, about love and responsibility, and about respect for all life. You gave me a good-bye pat on the head, avoided my eyes, and politely refused to take my collar and leash with you. You had a deadline to meet and now I have one, too.

After you left, the two nice ladies said you probably knew about your upcoming move months ago and made no attempt to find me another good home. They shook their heads and asked, “How could you?”

They are as attentive to us here in the shelter as their busy schedules allow. They feed us, of course, but I lost my appetite days ago. At first, whenever anyone passed my pen, I rushed to the front, hoping it was you — that you had changed your mind — that this was all a bad dream … or I hoped it would at least be someone who cared, anyone who might save me. When I realized I could not compete with the frolicking for attention of happy puppies, oblivious to their own fate, I retreated to a far corner and waited.

I heard her footsteps as she came for me at the end of the day, and I padded along the aisle after her to a separate room. A blissfully quiet room. She placed me on the table and rubbed my ears, and told me not to worry. My heart pounded in anticipation of what was to come, but there was also a sense of relief. The prisoner of love had run out of days. As is my nature, I was more concerned about her. The burden which she bears weighs heavily on her, and I know that, the same way I knew your every mood. She gently placed a tourniquet around my foreleg as a tear ran down her cheek. I licked her hand in the same way I used to comfort you so many years ago. She expertly slid the hypodermic needle into my vein. As I felt the sting and the cool liquid coursing through my body, I lay down sleepily, looked into her kind eyes and murmured “How could you?” Perhaps because she understood my dogspeak, she said “I’m so sorry.” She hugged me, and hurriedly explained it was her job to make sure I went to a better place, where I wouldn’t be ignored or abused or abandoned, or have to fend for myself — a place of love and light so very different from this earthly place. And with my last bit of energy, I tried to convey to her with a thump of my tail that my “How could you?” was not directed at her. It was you, My Beloved Master, I was thinking of. I will think of you and wait for you forever.

May everyone in your life continue to show you so much loyalty.

The End

A note from the author:

If “How Could You?” brought tears to your eyes as you read it, as it did to mine as I wrote it, it is because it is the composite story of the millions of formerly owned pets who die each year in American and Canadian animal shelters. Anyone is welcome to distribute the essay for a noncommercial purpose, as long as it is properly attributed with the copyright notice.

Please use it to help educate, on your websites, in newsletters, on animal shelter and vet office bulletin boards. Tell the public that the decision to add a pet to the family is an important one for life, that animals deserve our love and sensible care, that finding another appropriate home for your animal is your responsibility and any local humane society or animal welfare league can offer you good advice, and that all life is precious. Please do your part to stop the killing, and encourage all spay & neuter campaigns in order to prevent unwanted animals.

After a night of wine drinking , I came home to find two goldfish on the table. Being after midnight and feeling a little tipsy and tired. I just uttered, “Dammit” and went to bed.

In the morning, the fish were still there. My grandfather and gotten them for free at the garden show(1 per customer, my grandfather argued that my grandmother was another customer and managed two). He brought them home, cleaned out one of the Christmas flower planters, grabbed some rocks from the garden and thought he was good to go.

So here were these two goldfish in murky water, with dirty rocks in a neat hexagonal bowl.

I said, “Dammit.”

Then my parents showed up to briefly dump more crap I have to figure out how to get rid of(they are moving so are forgiven). They all sat around the table(mother, father, grandma, and grandpa) and told me not to worry because then my daughter could have funeral in the bathroom in a few days.

They seriously did not realize how aweful that sounded. My daughter was due back from her father’s at any moment. She is just in the potty training stage. I think a fishy funeral would scare her from the potty for a long time, not to mention the whole problem of death to a two year old. So I set out to save the damn fish.

I know very little about fish. Elementary school was animal orientated, we tried to keep all manner of things alive. I baby sat for various people who kept exotic fish. My ex-best friend killed many fish, a mouse, a parakeet and countless wild birds.

Something had to have rubbed off. My cats do really well. I had a dog for nearly 10 years(lived to 15). So I went to the pet store and started buying stuff. The night before my cousin had been worrying about her own fish. I had paid some attention to her and remembered some of what she talked about. So I grabed a 5 gallon tank that came with a simular filter. I got rocks, airators, little cave things, glass eggs, food, scrubbers, nets, and vacums. I was set.

It took me a hour to set up the thing. My grandmother spent half the time claiming that we had no room and that she wouldn’t let grandpa buy the stuff last night. I just explained you should never bring something home to kill it if you are not going to eat it too. My grandfather offered to eat them.

Aia came home just before I put the fish in. She watched as I caught the buggers and got them in the tank. It took two seconds for the fish to go from lauguishing at the top, trying to breath to darting around like maniacs looking kind of happy like.

She’s happy, I’m happy, Grandma has a new table centerpiece.

What they hell am I going to do with fish? I just hope they live for a while now.

Update: 5/23/03
Well Bert and Ernie are still alive and growing. Ernie has lost all his brown and Bert is completely opaque now. Happy little suckers.

Update: 8/04
Bert Died, having been over fed by my daughter. I was able to rescue Ernie. Ernie has a new home with a lady named Anna, whose hobby is taking care of fish. He seems much happier, and much bigger. Thus Endith the Fish Oddessy!
Copyright Michelle Norton(Tirjasdyn)

Would you let your dog roam around outside alone? In towns and cities most would not, however this is different with cats. People think that these independant minded creatures are somehow immune from cars, wild animals, people, and disease. This counts as neglect and I hope to raise a little awareness about it. I cannot count the times I have seen cats hurt, uncollared, and lost. If I know where the cat lives I bring it home. Usually the people tell me, “Huh, I thought it could take care of itself”. My own cats were victims of neglect, from which I saved them.

Keep Your Cats Indoors
Your cats need shelter. Sounds simple? You’d think so. You should never just put your cats outside and leave them. Cats can’t protect themselves from everything. Things like Feline Aids and Leukimia run rampant in stray communities. Cars hit cats daily around here. These are only some of the dangers.

But my cats destroy my furniture!
Hrm…inanimate objects or live creatures? For some this is an eternal question. You can always declaw but there are other options as well. We train our cats by water squirts on things we don’t want them to scratch and treats on things we do. Get a scratching post, tall enough for the cat to stretch on. Check your furniture, does it itch your palms when you rub it? If so, you cats may want to scratch it. White vingar or lemon juice washes may keep the cats away and brighten the fabric.

So no outside time for kitties at all?
Not so. There are many options to give them a little sunshine. For inside there are “cat shelves” you can buy to let your cats sit beside a window with a small sill. Some cats can be leash trained. This requires a harness and leash made out of non-catching fabric. Usually siamese and blue shorthair variaties take a shine to this. If you have backyard with a sound high fence you can let them out there. Some fabric around the edge will help keep them in. A harness and leash staked to the ground can be nice for an older or lame cat that would like to sit in the grass now and again. A pen or run can be bought or built to let the cats have some outside time but these must be cleaned. In most of the US it is against the law to let your cats roam free! Don’t forget a little food and water for those outdoor kitties. On walks, a small bag of treats and thermos with a cup lid could do you both some good.

Collar those cats!
Regardless of how you do it, collar those cats! If on a leash they should always have a harness, but if in your backyard or pen a collar will do. On the collar you should have current rabies tags, and license at least. My cats also have a name tag with our current phone number. This is a law in Colorado and most other states as well. In other countries I suggest you check your local laws. You should never leave the cat alone outside, especially leashed. They could get tangled, attacked or otherwise hurt without your supervision.

But I’m a breeder/in need of mouser.
Yes, there is such a thing as a work cat. Show, breeder, and entertainment cats are usually not outdoor cats. However, Farmers and Ranchers sometimes need barn cats to help with pest problems. Still these cats still need warm places to sleep, regular vet vists and care. My own mascot cat was an example of rancher neglect. Her mother, pregnant had never had a vet visit, was never allowed inside of the house. So in the fall she found the warmest place she could…in a horse stall. The rancher notices his horse acting weird and called the vet immediately. The vet found the trampled litter, dying mother, and one week old kitten barely alive. The vet rescued the kitten. Tests found she had syphillis, chlamydia, gonorrhea, upper respitory infection and various other diseases. She was suffering from dehydration, and malnutrition. By some miracle she lived. We got her at 1 month and a half old directly from the vet. She was hairless and on medication till she was 5 months old, but she turned into small but pretty cat with thick fur.

Strays/Uncollared Cats
Strays and Uncollared Cats should be taken to the local Animal Shelter. Some will come pick up the cats and patrol. Others require you catch the cat yourself. If possible, bring it to a no kill center.

Kittens
If your cat is having an unwanted(by you) pregnancy take the weaned kittens to the animal shelter, or put up signs for people to adopt them. Most pet stores will let you put up a flier as well. We were warned by the man who sold us our house to take walks on trash day to make sure no one was throwing out kittens in the trash! My secound youngest cat was almost a victim of kitten drowning, I’m happy to say that my friend and I saved her and her brother from it in time.

Children
Are you having a baby? That is no reason to get rid of your cats! Your cats are smart creatures and can be taught not to go in the baby’s room, and to respect the baby(it will take the child longer to respect the cat.) The simplest way to get the cat to respect the baby is to play with it while the baby is in room. Teach the child to play games with the cat. Our own 9month old already understands how to play ball with one of our cats. Most cats learn after the first hug to stay away from children. Do not leave your child alone with the cat until he or she can walk. Simple. Only in extreme cases, you may need to look for another home. A home! Do not take your cat to the shelter, find a loving family or even a foster care for a year till your child is older. In our case, Tylar would pee on all the baby’s things. We found her a loving home, because the behavior problem was territorial and could only be dealt with by separation of the baby and the cat. This would make poor Tylar’s life miserable. Instead we decided to find her a home where she could be free to do as she wished. This was an extreme case. Our other four cats love Aia and either get along or stay out of her way as needed.

Tell Us About It
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© Michelle Norton

This happened in the spring of 2004. This was the worst decision of my life. I cannot help but hate myself for it, because despite the circumstances it was my fault.

My ex-husband moved in just before we got married. Shortly after we were married, we had to turn him in for a breaking probation. While he was gone I was left with his dog to take care of. We knew we did not have room for the giant chow-retriever mix, as I had no yard and a very small house.

Mikey was brindle colored with long shaggy fur. He ate things, but was a lovable pup. He was huge but we loved him. I started looking for a home for him, but there were no takers.

I bought the house just that fall just before I started dating my that ex-husband. I had to have landscaping done before the summer was over. My grandparents had paid the deposit with the understanding they would get it back if they helped with the landscaping.

My grandmother gave me an ultimatum just before we began work on the landscaping. She told me to get rid of the dog or they would renege on the landscaping. I told them to fob off. My mother ambushed me shortly after that telling me that I had to take him to the animal shelter.

I was physically and emotionally exhausted. I had lost my job in January, I was working for a low paying temp service, fighting with my ex-husband’s old homeowner’s association on the sale of his property, my husband was in jail and I was struggling with my daughter, who do to the changes in our lives was a current nightmare.

I gave in.

I took a happy Mikey to animal shelter, with my mother’s assurance that if they found him un-adoptable on Monday, she would pay the fine to get him back.

On Monday they called telling us he was un-adoptable. My mother went down there but refused to pay the fine. When I asked her why she said Mikey failed the health screen and that they wanted $500.00 to get him out.

The next I called again. They had already put him to sleep. They told me he failed because of his heart. That he would have died anyway. He was a hyperactive dog.

I don’t know if that was true. I never will. I can’t help feeling, that this was the worst thing I have every done. I’ve had to find new homes for pets before, but always found loving homes where I get updates on their health.

I failed Mikey though.